


The Other Side of the Window

by Laura_McEwan



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-27
Updated: 2007-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-04 05:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_McEwan/pseuds/Laura_McEwan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>With thanks to Annie and Kimberly for their faithful beta work. Written for Ancasta during the <a href="http://www.eacalendula.net/secret_santa_2007_index.php">2007 Secret Santa Exchange</a>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Other Side of the Window

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Annie and Kimberly for their faithful beta work. Written for Ancasta during the [2007 Secret Santa Exchange](http://www.eacalendula.net/secret_santa_2007_index.php).

"Oh, no. No. It's no good, Starsk..."

"What?"

He tried, he tried so hard not to succumb to the pain, not to sound so weak. He forced his gaze from the ceiling to meet Starsky's. "You never were a very good liar, except when you're undercover." The next spasm made him gasp, his neck straining. He could feel the sweat on his face, soaking into his hair, trickling down to his chest.

It hurt too much. Too much.

A memory flashed. Starsky, sweat pouring from him as his body failed, minute by excruciating minute.

But Starsky had survived that wicked poison.

Now Starsky's voice was the gentle, caring, loving one, reserved for those who were helpless. Hutch had heard him use it so many times.

"What can I do for you?"

__

I love you so much. Love me harder than you've ever loved me before. Miss me when I'm gone. Take care of my plants and tell my mother...

Hutch struggled, his eyes darting frantically as if searching for an escape in the ceiling. "Just take care of the little—little sucker that's—t-twisting my chest into a knot."

An impossible, desperate request, he knew, but Starsky reached for him. Their hands came together fiercely, Hutch needing something solid and alive to hold onto as his body tried to drive his consciousness away. He resented the cool feel of the latex instead of the warmth of his partner's hand.

But it would do.

For a torturous minute, black spots encroached from the sides of his vision while his body screamed for oxygen amid the wrenching pain, but finally, blessedly, Hutch relaxed back into his pillow. A weak smile and a nod was all he could offer his partner as thanks.

"Y-you did it, you did it." He pulled a long drawn-in breath. The pain was largely gone, for now.

But his time was short. He could feel it. With every twist and clench and wrack of muscles, he crept closer and closer to darkness.

The loving gaze from the blue eyes behind the mask felt like home. Peaceful. Safe.

__

I wish we had more time...

"Now...get out of here, will ya?"

"What's the rush? Tired of looking at my pretty face?"

__

Oh, Starsk. Never.

"No. No more fun and games. This ain't no—f-fun, and the game is, Hutch is dying."

The pain in Starsky's eyes just about killed him faster than the damned bug was, but he held the gaze.

"So you get out there, on the streets, and check the sewers and hop in the holes."

Starsky listened, his hands gripping Hutch's even more tightly.

The pain struck again, sharp, demanding.

"Oh...oh, God, it hurts. It hurts..." He drew a painful breath. "Now get out of here, will ya?" He hated how his voice sounded, weak and failing.

Starsky didn't move. Hutch could see the message in those eyes, the words that even now Starsky did not dare say, not with Judith in the room.

But Hutch knew.

__

I love you, too, Starsk.

"Get out of here." He smiled as best he could, motioning toward the door with his head.

And Starsky left, moving with purpose and, Hutch knew, with grief. He watched his best friend disappear, and then turned away, shivering.

*~*~*

A rap on the window encouraged him to turn his head. Not his partner writing lipstick messages across the glass this time; the janitors had washed that precious note away, damn them. No, this time it was his captain, holding up a bunch of flowers.

If he'd had the strength, he would have cried. Oh, to touch and smell something real and organic, and not the frightening isolation of latex and blanket and hard plastic oxygen masks.

He lifted his hand to give him a fist of approval and thanks. Dobey smiled, but Hutch could see the sorrow.

__

Oh, God.

He hadn't let them call his family. No need to worry them, he'd thought.

And now he wished he could see his mother's face one more time. Clasp his father's hand, say he was sorry. Kiss his sister, pull on her hair as if they were still in pigtail braids. Maybe Starsky would call...explain...pass along final words.

__

I need to tell you my final words...Starsk? Tell my mother...

He drifted then, out to the Minnesota cornfield of memory and dreams, far away from the harsh rasping sound of his own breathing, echoing in the mask.

*~*~*

They told him much later that he lay unconscious in an oxygen tent, all his energy put into breathing and none left for anything else.

How his partner had not rested, or eaten, or left no sagebrush unturned; instead rallied officers to search the hills, and, in the end, Starsky had been the one to find Helen and her son.

How his partner went to Roper to tell him they needed Callendar alive.

How Starsky had talked to him from the hospital hallway. Called him 'babe' for anyone to hear, and pleaded with him to hang on.

How his friend had gone before television cameras to beg for Hutch's life.

How Starsky had nearly had his own head blown off trying to keep Callendar in one piece, long enough to get his blood.

And how, ever since the serum had been administered, Starsky had refused to leave Hutch's side for more than ten minutes, and even then under stubbornly loud protest.

*~*~*

Warm. He felt deliciously warm, cocooned.

He sighed, and felt a hand brush across his forehead. It felt like a cool breeze on a summer day. Pleasant, comforting.

A voice crept through the murky mist of his mind, resolving itself into familiarity.

Starsky.

He basked for a few lazy minutes within the smooth touch and loving voice before committing himself to opening his eyes.

"Welcome back, handsome," Starsky said, smiling a tiny smile. He looked tired. No, exhausted.

"You look like shit," Hutch whispered.

"Want a mirror?" Starsky's smile dazzled Hutch's eyes.

Hutch reached out, trailed his fingers down Starsky's arm. "Lay down with me."

Starsky captured his hand within his own, squeezed it, then laid it down on Hutch's chest. "Not enough room there, Blintz. Besides, I'd hate to compromise your reputation," his partner teased, but Hutch reached out for him again.

"Don't go."

"Hey. You know I ain't goin' nowhere."

Hutch sighed. He had things to say. To do. He needed Starsky close, so that soon, he could tell him just how he felt about him.

But right now, being close was good enough.

"You look tired, Starsk. Just—just lay your head down, huh? For a few minutes?"

Starsky gave him an endearing, but puzzled, look.

"Please."

With an arched eyebrow, Starsky complied, crossing his arms and resting his head on them near Hutch's waist. His blue eyes darkened as sleepiness crept in. "Happy now?"

Hutch nodded, dragging his fingers through the dark curls.

So much to say. "Sleep," was all he said.

_~end_


End file.
